Insomnia
by epiphyte
Summary: It is late, and Cedric cannot sleep. In spite of himself, he calls Orube.


He realized that he had not eaten anything since eleven that morning. The pain in his stomach could be hunger, but it could also be pain from his mind, he couldn't tell. The kitchen was far away and he didn't care enough to get up. He didn't care about anything, he didn't want anything anymore. His head ached. He wanted to sleep. He wanted this to stop. He wanted Orube.

You idiot. Why is your mind going to her? Do you need her? How pathetic are you, sitting on the floor in the dark feeling sorry for yourself? This is the life that you've created for yourself, is it? You've decided to live in misery like this?

The words echoed without real meaning. He wanted to cry.

What an idiot. What a fool. Cry then! Why don't you just act like the fool human that you are? Cry and snivel on the floor there. You idiot. You fool.

This had to stop. He had to stop thinking. He needed someone. Orube.

There was a phone on the table above him; he could call her. What would he say? "Help me, I feel so alone. I miss you. Please hold me."

Damn it, no!

You miserable worthless piece of garbage.

This had to stop.

He thought of lying on the floor, bringing his knees up to his chest. How stupid would that look? If Orube saw him then… no, stop thinking of her. Stop thinking of her. Stop thinking.

He needed something. He needed pain. He imagined the pain that Phobos used to give him, shocking, searing, excruciating pain that got into every part of his body. It would clear his mind of everything except the urge to scream and the resistance necessary to stop from screaming. He imagined that pain in his body. He would cry out. He would try to grab at something, anything. And then the pain would leave him, raw, collapsed, sobbing. Disgusting. Why was he imagining this? He ought to be the one hurting others. He needed to hurt someone; that was the only way to become strong. Wasn't it? He was the one who hurt people and reveled in their pain. That was the way it was supposed to be. He imagined inflicting that searing pain on the guardians, just as Phobos had done to him. It would flow from his hands and into the guardians, they would fall, writhing… screaming… but this fantasy felt empty. There was no pleasure there. He needed the pain to be in his own body. Why? Why did it need to be him? No, no matter, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered now. He imagined Orube hurting him, a knife in her hands, she would plunge it into his chest, twist it…

Oh god. This had to stop.

You fool. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

Stop.

Cedric stood up quite suddenly, forced himself up. The room was still dark. The lights outside the bookstore were still on looking exactly as they had before.

I hate you.

In the dark he found the phone and put his hand on it. It was all right. He didn't need this. He didn't need to call her. Why was he thinking of calling her? This was stupid. He was stupid for thinking he needed this. He ought to just lie down somewhere and sleep— no, he knew he couldn't sleep now. That was impossible. He breathed deeply. His hand was still on the phone. You don't need this. What are you? Why do you keep thinking you need her? It's an illness. It's only the human emotions that are making you feel this way. You don't need anyone. You're a fool for believing it. It's an illusion.

A sudden wave of emotion breaking over him. The urge to cry again. The urge to rip something apart. Rip himself apart. He wanted to draw blood. Clamp his teeth on his own skin. Oh god.

He breathed. Was his breath irregular? Was he breathing more quickly than normal? He wanted to get back on the floor, but no, he shouldn't, he got up for a reason. Why? The telephone. The phone in his hand. He was going to call Orube.

You fool.

He breathed. He needed her number. It was… he knew the area code of course. The next numbers he could remember because she had said them in an unusual rhythm the first time she told him. Yes, and the rest of the numbers came to him easily then. He picked up the phone and dialed the numbers quickly, holding his breath, not allowing himself enough time to change his mind.

There was one ring. He bit his lip as hard as he could.

Another ring.

"Hello?"

Oh god. What the hell was he doing.

"Hello."

His voice sounded too soft, too weak. He sounded disgusting. What the hell was he doing.

"Cedric?"

Was she confused? Angry? He couldn't tell. Why was he calling her?

"Yes… I, ah…"

"What is it? What's wrong?"

She sounded angry now, or maybe that was just urgency? This was so stupid. Why had he thought this would help anything, he—

"Cedric. Where are you?"

"I'm… in the bookshop… I—"

"I'm coming."

She hung up.

Cedric stood with the phone in his hands. He was cold. He felt ill.

She was coming over. He didn't feel very much better. Had he thought that would make him feel better? Was this what he had wanted to happen?

Do you think love can solve your problems? Have you begun to believe that Earthling nonsense? Of course you have, because you're just like them, aren't you? You live such a good quiet life, doing everything that you're told to do. Rolling over when Orube discovers your secrets because you're in love with her. Because you don't want to make her upset. Of course. You idiot.

You should hurt her.

He imagined kissing her, his lips against hers, her hands touching his back.

He inhaled and brought his hand to his mouth, bit into it, let go, imagining how ridiculous he would look to anyone who saw him. Orube was coming over. He needed to turn on the lights. He couldn't let her find him like this. He brought his hand back up to his mouth again, craving the pain, took it out, inhaled.

He walked to the light switch, switched it on. He wanted to sit down. Could he sit down on the floor again? What would Orube think? Did he care? It didn't matter. He didn't need to care. He sat down again, leaning against the desk.

There was a knock on the door. Oh, he had locked it of course. He got up and unlocked it, and there was Orube.

"Hi,"

She was wearing her orange coat. She walked in through the door and stood facing him, looking at him. He couldn't look her back in the eyes.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing, I just called you over here for no reason. I'm wasting your time. You should go back to your house."

She sat down in the chair by the table, and continued looking at him.

He breathed in, and out. He suppressed the urge to tear at something. There was nothing to tear at. He couldn't do that in front of her.

"Why don't you sit down?" she said. The irony of her asking him to sit down in his own bookstore sounded faintly at the perimeter of his mind, but he lacked the energy to point it out, to do anything but obey. The floor felt good. His back was against the desk. He brought his knees up to his chest and pressed his forehead against his knees. What time was it? Had he woken her up? Could he ask her that? How weak he would look to her! Maintaining superficial politeness while she could clearly see what a pitiable mess he was.

I hate you. I hate you.

"Did I wake you up?" he asked.

"No," she said. "Well, yes, but it was all right. I don't need much sleep."

"You should go back to sleep," he said.

"It's all right," she said again.

He wanted her gone. Why had he asked her here? This was torture. Please say anything, he thought.

She walked over to him, sat down, and took his hand. She moved her fingers over it, caressing it slowly and gently.

He wanted to pull her near to him and hold her so tightly that she would break. He wanted to push her away.

"Why are you doing this?" he said.

"Do you want me to stop?" she asked.

He said nothing. She let go of his hand.

"No," he breathed. She took his hand again.

It was late in the night and Cedric's thoughts were muted and drowsy when Orube softly asked "Would you like to come to my house tonight?"

He understood that this question meant more than tonight, that it was an invitation for an indefinite stay.

"That's not necessary," he said.


End file.
